


Trigger

by amelie_drinking_tea



Series: Bullet series [2]
Category: Merlin (TV), Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Humor, M/M, Modern Era, Sexual Confusion, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelie_drinking_tea/pseuds/amelie_drinking_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Arthur's POV.</p><p>"I’m not sure where one should draw the line between friendship and love. Aren’t you supposed to love your friends? Isn’t friendship a kind of relationship?"</p><p>Those fine lines can drive you mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read "Bullet", you really should before you go down this road ; ) 
> 
> As promised, here's Arthur's side of the story.

Man, I feel so weird doing this. Talking about emotions and shit. How do you do that, anyway? If you could see me right now, you’d laugh, no joke. I’m actually tossing and turning on the sofa like a perp about to get caught, laptop on my lap, sweating like a pig.

I’d feel more comfortable to admit I was watching porn. I just haven’t got the ability to share, that’s all. How does it work, really? Do I just go on babbling away about my life? Shit, I’m gonna kill everyone out of boredom.

It’s quite simple, actually. I’m confused. Ok, that sounded like the opposite of simple. I’m… divided. Yeah, that sounds accurate enough. I’ve never actually given it too much thought till I met him. Like, if I could be into blokes or whatever. I’m not sure where one should draw the line between friendship and love. Aren’t you supposed to love your friends? Isn’t friendship a kind of relationship?

Shit, I’m pretty thick sometimes and even I know that won’t do it. Ok, let me start from the beginning, though it wasn’t actually the beginning. I’m not gonna start dissecting my high school years now, I mean, no one wants to hear about that. All right, maybe later.

We were like, you know, lying on his bed this one night, we used to do that all the time when I slept over, who the fuck cares, right? I mean, I’ve had a couple of mates who would go berserk if they knew we did that, but those guys were scared little twats who thought proving they liked pussy (their choice of words, a’ight?) was the most important thing in their lives.

That’s just so messed up I’m not even dignifying it with a comment. Treating people like that, geez, talk about bloody childish. But then again, my own father has said far worst things about other people’s lives and what they like to do with their private time and he’s like fifty!

Anyway, I don’t know what came to me that night. Fuck, I sound like those jerks I was just running down. I know what came up to me, I do know. I wanted to kiss him, and maybe do something else too. He was leaning on me, so close, those impossibly blue eyes staring at me relentlessly as always. We were discussing the latest horror flick at the movie theater, a pathetic attempt of horror, if I might add, when he just made a hilarious comment on modern American screenwriters, and my heart literally pumped painfully in my chest. Fuck, he was amazing.

Of course, back then I had no idea what he was into, he seemed way too self-sufficient to even need someone else, be it boy or girl. He still is. And I honestly didn’t care about any of that. He was my best friend and that was more than enough. Thing is, I panicked. I’m not proud of that, you know, I don’t usually get scared of stepping up and doing whatever. So I just mumbled some nonsense about feeling tired right in the middle of our conversation, turned my back on him, and pretended to sleep.

I often regret turning my back on him in all senses. And I often think about that night. My father used to say “never leave business unfinished” and yes, he’s a tosser, but he knows his odds just by glancing at a situation. I could never do that. That's why I usually threw myself into hard issues, even if I were terrified by them. To see what would happen, 'coz I never really knew in advance. But I never got to find out exactly where I stood with Merlin. I just never got the courage to try and find that one out.

Another thing that made me freak out that night was that I’d been rehearsing all day to tell him about this girl I’d just met. Guinevere. I swear to God, I felt a gush of wind come through the window when I told him and everything felt damn cold all of a sudden. Sometimes it felt like he controlled the weather with his mind or something.

Shit, he was so polite around her it made me mad. Yeah, I’m aware that makes absolutely no sense, but then again, nothing ever made much sense when it came to what I felt around him. He treated her extremely well and I dare say they might have become close friends if I hadn’t actually made an effort to not let that happen. Don’t ask me why.

Maybe I just wanted to keep him all to myself. Father always said I was stubborn and greedy and unfocused, and I hate to admit it, but that really applies to many aspects of my life. Fine, I’ll spit it out. It was like he and I belonged to an alternate universe or something and I didn’t want it to change, so I’d barely mention her around him, I don’t know, it always seemed like he was in disguised pain when I did.

And, man, he tried really hard, I could tell. Merlin was great at hiding his broken heart, like a perfected art, just not from me. He couldn’t help but slip into this dark world of his every time he felt like losing control over something. And I couldn’t let go either. I was really excited to have met Gwen, but not excited enough to not worry about what he’d think of that.

Then I’d thought of kissing him, like what the hell was that about?

Sometimes I hated that he made me feel that way. Putting all that pressure on me without even realizing it. It all seemed a bit unhealthy, to say the least, this need we had of each other. We used to text like every day and I couldn’t get enough of it! Of his snide comments and funny remarks. Of his being there.

I mean, I’m not the brightest crayon in the box and even I knew that would end up bad.

It’s not the way I planned for it to turn out. Perhaps I should have actually planned it, which I didn’t. “Always have a back-up plan” my father also used to say, long before we stopped talking. It’s weird how his every word still echoes on my mind, like I’m doing everything wrong all the time.

That’s when I miss Merlin the most. He’d always bring me back to stuff that mattered. Every time the weather is windy, I think about texting him. He hasn’t texted in ages and I see what he’s doing. I probably deserve it. Then again, I’m not that sure I do. I better take note of this, huh? Maybe send it all for someone to review it. Hah, like that’s gonna happen.

I seem to be getting nowhere, and, unlike Merlin, I don’t think I can get away with that.


	2. Coming up for air

I fucking love Autumn. It’s like you’re all done by Autumn. I do hate my sense of responsibility, though. It follows me everywhere like a shadow. I’m fully aware of what is expected from me and it just creeps me out that years come and go and I still haven’t got a clue of what I expect from myself.

Back in high school, I was a full time closeted dork, disguised as sociable. I’d walk around and chat with everybody, show interest in all sorts of subjects, let offensive comments slide, and while at it, try to have some fun altogether, which basically gave me free pass into all the groups. You could say I was sort of popular, I guess. So when this funny looking guy showed up in class one day, Doctor Who buttons on his rucksack, crazy haircut, and no fear of acting out his geekness, I was mesmerized by it.

Improbable as it might sound, I never actually talked to my classmates about stuff I was into. I’d rather listen to what they were saying, and go along with it. Before you tag me as feeble-minded or whatever, let me just get one thing straight. I’m not a follower, though I do enjoy going with the flow sometimes. And give me a break, I was like sixteen. It’s just seemed at that time like the thing to do in order to get along with everybody and avoid unnecessary crisis. Shit! I sound just like my dad!

Maybe it was his lack of self-consciousness, maybe it was his Lord of The Rings binder, what I know is, as soon as I started a conversation with him, something happened. I suddenly realized I could open up to that guy, he made me fearless somehow. Next thing I know, I’m letting all my dorkness roll.

He actually laughed at the things I said, and seemed genuinely interested in discussing b-movies from the 80’s over lunch. It was somewhat perfect. I just wish… fuck. Wishing is the most stupid way to waste your time, isn’t it?

Now that I come to think about it, staring outside the window of this well-respected company, entitled to a personal assistant and all (having people bring me coffee, for god’s sake!), it’s all about the choices you make. And I really hate when my mind goes to places like these, ‘cos I don’t know what to make of it, and I’ve spent all my life hearing people say I’ve got to have purpose.

I haven’t been feeling very adult-like lately. I do acknowledge all the blessings in my life, Gwen being one of the greatest, for sure. And it feels wrong feeling this unsatisfied. It’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to myself. That I’d rather pretend everything is fine when it isn’t. I don’t regret having chosen her, if that’s what you’re thinking, and I know my life would be somehow incomplete hadn’t I done it. I truly love her.

But I need him.

It’s a kind of feeling that aches inside, and I’m never sure of what it means.

Ok, I’m about to share something bloody awful. I was postponing it, but what’s the point, really? I can’t hide it from myself, might as well just put it out there. Shit, it’s so messed up. I’m not proud of it, alright?

Long before I actually hooked up with Guinevere, I had this fling with a girl called Elena. She was by far the coolest babe in school, had this “screw people’s expectations” attitude without actually falling back on the “rebel without a cause” persona. I wish (again, nothing good comes out of it) I could say she simply fell for my good looks or something, work of fate or whatever, but truth is I hand picked her to be my girlfriend.

Let me go back a little, as if it’d justify my behavior. Guys at the football team had been giving me a hard time to find myself a girlfriend. I couldn’t care less about that. It’s just that I was spending most of my time with Merlin since we’ve met and people started talking and some even avoiding me. It was more about my losing that sparkle I thought I had, that gift of pleasing everyone than giving in to peer pressure itself.

I didn’t blame him or anything, but there was this urge in me to rub it in his face that I could do fine on my own, and find someone just as interesting as him. That’s so twisted I won’t even try to offer further explanation. And yeah, I was mostly trying to prove to myself that I could enjoy a girl’s company more than I enjoyed his.

So I remembered him mentioning her a couple of times, how she’d be a great class president and how she’d written an awesome paper on Stephen King once. He also fancied her hairstyle. That was it, I had to impress her, kill three birds with one stone. To be honest, I had a great time dating her, and it made me feel less of a manipulative bastard for it.

Still, I knew I was doing it for basically the following reasons: one, I needed to get a girlfriend, two, I needed to prove to myself that I wanted a girlfriend, three, I had to make him jealous for some unknown sadistic reason.

I could be a sodding prick right now and say that was his fault, bringing out the worst in me. I was scared, that’s all there’s to it. Thank god that moment of madness didn’t last long. He just smiled at me when I told him we were dating. Again, that gush of cold wind. I knew it was gonna sweep me off my feet someday.

He avoided me for weeks after that, and I pretended not to know why. I was angry at him, despite my bad intentions. Was I not allowed to have a girlfriend? He had no right to give me the silent treatment and behave like a spoiled child every time I somehow reminded him we were just friends. What was I supposed to do? Ok, maybe not hurt him gratuitously as I did when I went with Elena. Among all people. Since she not only was a Doctor Who trivia expert, but also conveniently female.

Should I admit I sometimes enjoyed watching him struggle? There was some strange poetry into it. Deep down I was flattered to be part of his never-ending conflict.

What kind of person misses the unmanageable cold when everything else is warm and right?

I do.


	3. Fireside

College was supposed to be all fun and games, but I soon came to realize it’s kind of hard getting on to it when your concept of fun is so damn different from everyone else’s. That may or may not come out as a bit of a shock for most of the people who know me. I mean, I can’t pull off the mysterious type, all broody and misunderstood, panting over obscure indie music or whatever. I’m just a regular guy. I’m supposed to fit in.

Back in high school, I’d play along, hanging around a thousand people who didn’t really matter to me, and occasionally getting some kicks out of it. Now it just felt exhausting. I’d rather hang at my shitty flat, watch John Carpenter’s “Body bags”, commented edition, over and over again, and maybe get a little drunk by myself.

I know it sounds dreary, but it wasn’t. Especially when he’d text me in the middle of the night to complain about his mates from Uni. Especially when he’d come over. That’d always put a smile on my face, his self-consciousness disguised as outrage. His need of my telling him he was actually getting off on all that. It made me even fonder of him, as if that was possible.

What’s wrong with me?

I mean, I wasn’t a kid then, and I’m definitely not a kid now, why is it that I keep behaving like that? Was it vanity that made me keep him high and dry for so long? Was I deliberately leading him on, because I needed him to want me? Because feeling wanted, by him alone, was the best I’ve ever felt?

I guess I do know the answers to those questions. But they’re just too screwed up for me to accept them.

I remember him coming over one night, he was feeling like shit ‘cos of some douches from his literature class. They kept harassing him with crap like him not getting any dates or whatever. That sort of stuff always got to him pretty hard. To me, it seemed insane he’d think so low of himself. I wanted to just shake him sometimes, he’d be so blind. I guess he didn’t feel that self-sufficient after all.

That’s still how I see him, though. Even today.

The weather was awful that night, as if reflecting his state of mind or something. It was really creepy how they often seemed to coincide. I had had classes all day and was just ready to pop in a dvd and make a night out of it when he arrived.

I feel like a teenager saying this, but I never knew how to act around him. I mean, of course, I absolutely loved chatting with him, acknowledging his very existence was enough to get me through tough days. It’s just that he could be so intense sometimes; I was more than sure I couldn’t keep up with it.

So I’d just babble on about everything I thought might interest him, every somehow appealing aspect of my week. I’d mention stuff I thought were fascinating, hoping he’d find them fascinating as well, and before I knew it, I was unleashing the dork I so vehemently made an effort to hide from the world.

It was amazing and freeing, and not getting to have all of him to myself seemed like an absurd from time to time. Those thoughts often scared me, because I was never sure how much I’d be willing to put at risk for just a taste of it. But then again, I’d always think, late at night, that a taste of it had gotta be worth a million sacrifices.

As I said before, I’m a simple guy. All that heartache sounded like nonsense to me, yet I couldn’t help it. Everything was so out of control when it came to Merlin. Inside my mind, that is. I’d avoid at all costs touching him. And even that I couldn’t manage to do when he’d put on that grateful smile on his face. As if I were the one to be thanked for. I wanted him more than anything then. It felt awfully breathtaking.

So when Gwen came to the picture, all I could think of was “Yes! This is what it’s supposed to feel like”. It’s comfortable, and right, and I can smile and touch and love her whole. Not just because she’s a woman, that be clear, but because she allowed me to love her without needing her so desperately.

She knew where she stood in life, I guess. Things were simple to her, what was right was right and what was wrong was wrong. And I was very much in need of that certainty. And there were definitely no mind games involving our relationship, which was refreshing, to say the least.

She’d be straight with me like 90% of the times, and I felt like my own person around her. I wasn’t able, though, to easily let out my tangled thoughts for the future or my weird pet peeves till we’ve know each other for a while. Have crazy-ass conversations from day one. Inside jokes.

But I eventually did! And I got used to enjoying her company till I felt amazingly relaxed around her. I did grow to love her more than I thought I could romantically love anyone.

So, no, it wasn’t the same as when I first met him, like the whole fucking world seemed a much more interesting place to live in all of a sudden. Like I’d get so ridiculously excited every time I got a fucking message, a fucking small laugh from him. Especially if I was the cause of it.

Fuck. She doesn’t deserve these thoughts I keep having. Sometimes I’m a real douche and wish I could have it all. Soothing love from her and endless overwhelming mind-fucking enthusiasm from him.

And then sometimes, I just pick one of those in my head. The one I long to keep. Don’t even have to think much.

And that makes me question every single move I’ve made so far.

I guess if this was a “I can do it without you” competition, I’d be losing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might or might not have noticed, I like to reference the Arctic Monkeys a lot. A LOT. The song "Fireside", which I chose as the title for this chapter, shows Arthur's feelings perfectly. Here's a link to the lyrics, in case you want to check it out ; )  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYItJhYK_6k


	4. When the sun goes down

I hate bothering people with my problems. First of all, because I know no one bloody cares. I mean, why would they? If I’m feeling lonely, depressed, confused, in the middle of some sort of adulthood crisis, no one should be forced to bear with me. “Pick your battles, so you can win them alone”, my father would say.

Maybe I should stop quoting him. It’s beginning to sound like he’s my role-model or something. He used to be, I won’t deny it. But I was never the type to follow along just because someone’s been doing it longer than me. I know, I know! My high-school years don’t count, because even then, I wouldn’t let my need to please stop me from doing the stuff I already enjoyed in the first place. And to be honest, it seemed I’d only relish in the things he wouldn’t approve of.

Did I do it on purpose? Well, I’ll leave that one unanswered for now.

Another reason why I often failed to convey my inner troubles was the fact that I was never able to complain properly; it felt wrong to bitch about my little displeasures when life was treating me pretty decently, I mean, no one I loved had died or got severely ill or anything. I felt I had no right to be in pain.

I remember, for example, dad telling me once that I was just a spoiled little brat for not wanting to be a part of the rugby team. I refused to get too upset. And this other time he told me what a disappointment I was for not being class president not even once. What kind of a leader was I expecting to become if I fled from responsibility at any chance I got?

Yeah, sure, it made sense.

He’d say things like that and I’d just apologize and mope around for a while, not actually knowing what to do with those pieces of information on the kind of person I was to his eyes. It wasn’t like he was kicking me out, like he didn’t care, or else he wouldn’t have even bothered scolding me. If stuff got messed up for real, which wasn’t the case, then I’d have the right to be pissed.

Well, I’d say that to my sixteen-year-old self anyway.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to follow any of his advice.

Well, will you look at that, I’m sharing! It does feel pretty satisfying. I wish I could do it with an actual person standing in front of me, that’d be a real victory. I’m far from winning, obviously.

So when I first thought of Merlin under a, let’s say, less heterosexual light, the first and scariest thing that came to mind was “Father. Father is going to kill me, he’s going to chop me into little pieces, then he’s going to find a way to bring me back to life, just so he can kill me slowly afterwards, probably through some really harsh verbal abuse.” He could do that, you know.

And as far-fetched as it seems, it’s a pretty accurate representation of my train of thought at that moment. And I’ll tell you about it, of when it actually hit me. I was seventeen going on eighteen. I’d be lying if I said I had never thought of my relationship with Merlin as “unusually exciting” before that very day, however I had never felt quite the urge to take that dangerous step till then.

It was X-mas eve. There was a huge party going on at our house, all my father’s business associates were attending, and, as you might have figured by now, I was more than willing to pretend to be interested in whichever career advice they had for me.

I thought about Merlin the whole fucking night. I’d keep moving my mobile through my fingers, tempted to text him, feeling like a bit of a loser for wanting to hear from him so badly on Xmas, when he was probably spending some quality time with his mother and relatives.

I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I hardly ever feel like a loser. I’m pretty aware of what I can and cannot do, so there’s rarely any self-doubt going on in my head. The only two people who could always fuck everything up, as far as my confidence was concerned, were my dearest father and yeah, you guessed it.

Bugger this. Am I the proudest man ever born, or what?

There was a huge difference, though. While my father used to do it deliberately, with the sole purpose of educating me for the harsh burdens of adulthood (again, I’ll easily convince myself), Merlin would just… be, you know? And that was it. He’d just go through everyday life, taking nothing but that achingly analytical eye of his to protect him from reality. Or triviality, I’m not sure which is which anymore.

And I have a headache now. You see? That’s the shit I’m talking about right there! He brings out these weird thoughts in me! I don’t even know what the hell I’m saying!

I ran away like a scared little child that night, even though I tried so hard to keep my cool. Merlin was a pro at that, which made me even more embarrassed. Everything was going well. Till it wasn’t. And I felt like choking in my own unsaid words.

“Will you ever stop letting me down, for Christ’s sake? I’ve done nothing but try and guide you into the right direction, and you keep behaving like a deviant!”

A deviant, according to my dad, was anyone not inclined to get married, have kids and give his life away to a multimillionaire company, so he could then retire and spend his last years ice-fishing in a yacht somewhere.

All I wanted was to spend Xmas with my best friend. I wanted to make him laugh. I wanted to know what snogging him would feel like, even for a few seconds. And I didn’t fucking want to attend business school!

“What would your mother say? I’m actually glad she isn’t here to listen to your nonsense!”

I don’t know, sometimes I’m glad about it too.

Then the next thing I knew I was sitting on Merlin’s bed, wishing he could just say something clever to make me feel better, because I wanted to cry so bad, and I couldn’t bear anyone else to see me like that. Then I wished he could, maybe, just stay with me.

And he did.

He fucking did.


	5. A lack of colour

Is it just me or every single time you start talking about yourself only the bad stuff come to mind? I’m trying really hard to think of something honorable I’ve done in the past five years. Maybe it’ll come to me in the shower. For now, I can only recall a couple of unsettling events which I’d rather never speak of again. Not that I’ve actually spoken of it before today.

It all started when I realized Merlin was self-medicating a little too often, which sort of freaked me out. He’d always been larger than life, and I’d constantly find myself wondering how it was possible that he’d not have a mental breakdown from all those overwhelming mind processes of his. I’d read stuff he wrote for his college paper, his contributions to movie review blogs, or even some of his late night e-mails and it left me both marveled and worried.

He’d say he needed those painkillers for all kinds of reasons, and I’d tell myself he was a smart guy who didn’t need “lecturing” on the underlying dangers of legal substance abuse. I mean, he’d occasionally feel devastated for no apparent reason and I just didn’t have the nerve to say anything that’d make him go even deeper on his melancholy. I just wanted him to be ok.

I remember this one time I went to see him, he was lying on his bed, a little numb from whatever he’d taken for his headaches (in his defense, they could get pretty intense). It was easy to recognize when he’d popped up a few pills because of his awful mood swings. The world was suddenly a terrible place to exist in and everyone sucked, and there was no reason to even bother waking up in the morning and talking to people.

So yeah, the stuff wasn’t exactly making him happier, still, I didn’t know if I should do anything. That night he wouldn’t even look at me, lying on his stomach, face turned to the posters on his bedroom wall, actually pouting as if he was severely pissed at something I did. Just picture a brilliant dissatisfied teenager without a cause. Remove the “teenager” part. That’s Merlin. I sat beside him, asked if he needed an extra pillow or something. I didn’t know what to say, a’ight? I just wanted to make sure he was comfortable, at least.

He looked at me as if I were an alien. And for a second there I thought he was gonna tell me to sod off. But of course, as ninety percent of the shit he says, this too was disorienting. He grinned and said he thought I was perfect. I laughed, a little embarrassed, and thanked him.

“What d’you take tonight?”

“Two aspirins.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious, Arthur. You are perfect.”

“Then why were you pouting at me?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I had a good reason when you arrived, but I forgot.”

When I was a little kid, I didn’t understand the expression “it’s all a blur”. I thought it meant someone had spilled water or milk all over the dinner table, therefore they had to clean it up. When I learned the true meaning of it I was very disappointed. It felt like the stuff which was usually “a blur” was exactly what you weren’t supposed to forget. Then as I grew older, I realized certain things are better left forgotten. Like I wish I’d forgotten he’d said that to me.

Because I’d obviously never live up to perfection.

A while later, he dozed off, mumbling from time to time about test scores and dragons, or whatever fantastical creatures populated his sleeping mind. I thought about leaving, but instead I just stood there. What was it about him that made me both doubt and believe I could do just about anything? I leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his forehead, then on his cheek. Then on his lips. A shiver went through my spine as if that cold wind I often sensed coming from him was now part of me too.

He whispered my name in his sleep, in a somewhat hurtful tone, as I’d wronged him deeply. Being sneaky like that. When he deserved a simple “it’s not gonna happen, ever.” My stomach twirled. I was as lost then as I am now. And I wish I could say it was all a blur after that. I wish I could say you start to get things, really get them, when you get older. I fucking wish I could stop fucking wishing.

It was no more than a brush of lips.

When he told me of this bloke Gwaine he had met, I automatically hated the guy. Then I hated myself for being such a gigantic prick. I sensed things changing slowly and I just pretended to be in control. As long as he’d still rather hang out with me, things would be fine. As long as I was still number one on his restricted list (and boy, was it restricted!), I had nothing to worry about. I’d just text him to remind him I cared. To make sure we’d still have it. And that would be enough.

“fancy a night of sheer excitement? my evil dead trilogy just arrived. come over.”

Sure, that would do it.

How did I even manage to let it linger like that? I mean, talk about unhealthy habits.

Who the fuck am I to judge his?

I remember injuring my knee pretty badly while playing footie once when I was nine, I didn’t even tell anyone because I thought I wasn’t supposed to.

I’m suffocating now. Who am I supposed to call?


	6. Only when you look at me

Why do people insist on hurting themselves on purpose? No one in my family even believes in depression. So if I had it, I wouldn’t know. Sometimes I just look outside my bedroom window and it hits me. Sometimes I feel nothing at all. I wonder, if things were different, if I were different, would it actually be an improvement? It’s the wondering that freaks me out.

Once when I was seventeen, father told me to stop being so quaint. I didn’t get it then. I’ve always considered myself to be painfully normal. Then when I turned twenty-one, I sort of started to visualize where he was heading to, saying things like “Why can’t you just find a nice girl and do something useful with your life?”

I think he knew, even before me, that my interest was never in girls, but people. That the way I swung was either way which caught my interest, my enthusiasm, my affection. I think it killed him to realize his only son was “deranged” that way. Fuck, it killed _me_ when I first realized it. It was such a hard concept to grasp, not being able to define myself so bluntly.

And it would most certainly have given him a heart attack to acknowledge my full attention was focused on Merlin like ninety percent of the time then. Back when his biggest concern was that I wouldn’t become another version of himself.

I was clueless.

And I can’t even say those strange times are behind me.

Everyone seems to have it easier these days, since being the outcast is reason enough to be sympathized with. But of course, that’s utter bullshit. People want you to admit to stuff you’re not even sure of. As if you had to be sure. Why do I have to be sure? Even those “open-minded” types will judge you under their breaths. You know them, they’re your closest friends, your co-workers, they’re your family. The ones you care about. Your “how to make friends and influence people” textbook. They want you to pick one path and go for it. It gives them a sense of stability, of safety. If you’re shredded, the least you can do is admit to it, right? Just go live your defective life, so we can all move on with ours.

Then there’s those types who will judge you for not “accepting yourself”. God, it drives me fucking mad. It’s not anybody’s business whether I “accept myself” or not. The very word “acceptance” makes me pissed. I’d share that with Merlin, during those enlightening sleepless Friday nights we’d spend at mine, and he’d just nod and stare with gloomy eyes, which would always shoot me through the heart, unmercifully. Deep down, he needed me to choose a path as well.

I hated that little game we’d play, in which I had to prove myself to be unbreakable, as everyone already assumed I was. He’d be a hypocrite, knowing everything about me and still feeling cheated on. I wanted to be the one, for once, to see him stripped down to the bone. But then again, I was listening to Night Vale the other day and they said only you can regret the forest fires you started.

I know, ok? I know what I’ve done.

Then a couple of days go by without hearing from him, and everything seems to be distractions. Yet I am happy with what life has given me so far. Shouldn’t he be happy for me as well? Shouldn’t we both move on?

Shouldn’t we fucking allow ourselves to?

I’ve been planning my groundbreaking move for some time now. After getting a job offer anyone would be crazy to turn down, I realized I had to stop acting this recklessly once and for all. I talked to Gwen about it, and she was strangely excited by the perspective of leaving the city. It made me less uneasy, it warmed me somehow. She’s been through some tough shit since her brother died, and I had thought the last thing she’d want was a big change like that.

I guess everyone is just eager to leave the past behind, to escape from heartache and uncertainty.

I’ve been telling myself I can do it for the last couple of weeks. It’s proving to be much harder than I imagined at first, since I’ve been naïve enough to believe I’d be ready if I just kept lecturing myself it was for the best. It is for the best, right?

Right?

I’m trying not to think of it as a cowardly getaway.

“Have you told Merlin?” she asked, real concern going through her eyes. “You should be careful when you do, he might take it pretty hard.”

I’ve never felt more unworthy of someone in my entire life.

So I thought of calling him, right then, and get it over with.

“You’re the real reason why I’m doing this. I’m leaving because I can’t stand being that close yet that far away from you all the fucking time. I’m leaving because I can’t handle my needing you, my habit of hurting you, since, fuck, sometimes I feel this self-consuming pleasure from your pain. From your very existence. I’m leaving because we just got to be free. Get away from this feeling, killing us, one double-meaning joke at a time. I’m not leaving out of my sense of duty. I’m leaving because I hate myself for loving you the way I do. It’s poisonous, addictive, selfish, emotionally devastating.

It’s extraordinary.”

Yeah. It would have gone something like that had I made that phone call. Had I the guts, that is.

And that’d be unfair. True, but unfair.


	7. Epilogue

Man, I feel so weird doing this. I haven’t felt this anxious since Mrs. Nimueh sent me to the principal’s office for cheating on my French test on 9th grade. I’ve been sitting here for around forty minutes now and the smell of dry cappuccino is making me nauseated, the cupcakes, the background indie music. It’s all getting on my nerves. This isn’t how I pictured it, it’s not the right scenario at all.

I called him two days ago. He fucking hated that. It made him jumpy and he felt extremely awkward when he had to actually speak on the phone. He’d gasp and stutter and lose his charming wit for a while. And even though I got high on seeing him defenseless like that ( _don’t go down that road, Arthur_ ), I’d avoid calling.

But I was just too scared he’d miss my message if I simply texted him. It had to be done, we’d have to really talk this time.

Now comes the real hard part. How can I tell him I’ve fucked up our friendship and now it’s too late to make things right? I mean, even if it weren’t, I wouldn’t know how. I wouldn’t know what to fight for, what’s worth keeping. What he really wants from me. Half-truths?

I just feel totally out of place. Like a stranger waiting for his blind date. Like there’s all and nothing to expect from it. Or maybe I could just refuse the job, maybe I could call them right now and say a better offer came up.

_A better offer…_

Fuck.

I need to do this. I owe him that much.

If he doesn’t get here in five minutes, I’m gonna blow up this place.

“Arthur?” I look up, as if someone’s been calling me for ages, voice fading along that damned soulless underground music. He’s there whether you feel ready or not, as always. Unique, as always. He gives me a half-smile, almost hopeful. _No, no, don’t do that_. So I say something stupid about stolen wi-fi. His smile widens. _Bloody hell. Don’t smile!_

“What did you call me here for anyway?” he asks, voice a little shaky. Or it could be just my ears, my whole body language reflected on his actions. I can never put my finger on the moment when his feelings end and mine start.

Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck am I thinking? Do what you came here to do!

I tell him it’s nothing, really. He should sit down, though, order some coffee. He tells me he hasn’t drunk coffee in seven years. His migraines. Right.

“Alright, ok… thing is, I’m moving. I got this job offer from Dubois Architecture and it’s a really good opportunity for me to, you know, get into really big projects, not this local shit I’ve been working on for the past two years and I wanted to let you know… Merlin?”

“Dubois… Isn’t it like five million miles away?” he sounds as if a reaper had just sucked his soul through his eyes. He sounds cold as ice. Yet gentle. I’ve seen it before. It’s gonna be ugly.

“Yeah, I mean, not five _million_ …” I sound so stupid I wanna punch myself repeatedly. He’s doing it. He’s building up his fucking shield. His bulletproof vest. I can practically see it, like some supernatural ghostly armor around him. He’s gonna take a deep breath, then he’s gonna get quiet for a while.

Then he’s gonna smile.

I can’t take it.

“Gwen is really excited about it too” I start, moving awkwardly in my chair, “she really needs a change of airs, since what happened to Elyan, you know…”

Yes, idiot. Bring her up. That’s gonna make everything better. I stop mid-sentence.

He’s dead quiet. It’s like the gray sky right before the storm. Except that, with Merlin, there’s no storm coming at the end. There’s just the sky getting grayer and grayer, till I can’t see shit. I’m losing him. It’s happened before, I’ve seen it. He’s turning into this intense yet ethereal being, ready to possess me. Always ready to turn everything upside down inside my head.

And he doesn’t even know.

Then he asks me. Out of the blue, he asks me if I love him. I know what he means, obviously. But I pretend I don’t, because, yeah, I’m fucking good at it. He’s not buying it, though, he sounds like he’s had enough of the doubt.

Today, he’s had enough of it.

Would I love him the way I love Gwen? He asks me.

Then I have two choices. They both suck.

I can either lie to him, and say I love him as a friend, and that I’m sorry if I ever led him to think differently, which would make me self-crowned king of the hypocrites, or I can admit to it, yet tell him it would never work, though, it could never get anywhere past the heat and the heartache, because I chose Gwen, and because loving him like that cripples me in all sorts of ways. It harms him too and he should know that.

It was never any good for us.

Except that it was great, and I’m seriously on the verge of screaming I don’t wanna leave him, because he’s my favorite person and everything is brighter when he’s around. Ok, breathe. But I won’t leave Gwen either and I know it. My head spins. I won’t risk losing her, because she makes me happy.

But God, he makes me more alive.

I’m so screwed. I try to tell him things are different now, so I don’t actually have to give him any of the explanations above. He gets up and moves towards the door.

I panic as I haven’t panicked in years, as I haven’t panicked since the first time I thought about pressing him against a wall and sending everything and everyone to hell.

“Merlin!” I shout. I’ve got to let him go, to stop hurting him. This is beyond twisted, beyond egocentrical, beyond sadistic.

_But please, don’t go._

I see he takes another deep breath before turning back to me. He’s turning back. And me, what am I doing? I see it in his eyes, that he’s struggling behind his shield. That he’s unsure of his winning the battle. His face says he’s fine, it says he’s this awesome guy who won’t get affected, simply because he’s above it all. His eyes, though. It could be my reflection again, it could be my wanting him to show a glimpse of hope, of us getting together.

And once more, I don’t know who’s the one wishing for it. I wanna meet him coming backwards, I want time to contract. In a split of a second, I want the Earth to stop moving. But here we are, moving into the void of ourselves instead.

Into those empty eyes, which aren’t empty, but need to be, I drawn. And he just looks at me again. Patiently waiting.

So I tell him of what could have been. I try to summon years of miscommunication into a couple of sentences. I try to tell him he’s the one after all.

Despite it all.

Despite the path I’ve chosen, despite what it’ll never be. Not in this lifetime.

Not right now, anyway.

I can’t stand to see him hurt, I say. And he could react the way any sane person would then, yell, scorn, walk away without saying a word, or curse me till the end of time. He could say “this is it, then” and we’d never talk again. He could let out his anger, our shared frustration and anger at everything we’re not able to understand.

_But, please, don’t smile._

And he does, right before he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sure this is the end. (Will it ever end?)   
> Anyway, thank you SO MUCH for all your perfect comments so far! They have inspired me deeply!

**Author's Note:**

> As you know, English is not my first language, so any constructive feedback will be very much appreciated. : ) Rants and heartaches will as well.


End file.
